


The Pain of the Soul

by Musyc



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Kushiel's Chosen, Missing Scene, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It was ungentle, for the first time -- the only time -- between us. Wracked between despair and desire, Joscelin was rougher than was his wont.</i> - Kushiel's Chosen</p><p>A missing scene between two sentences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pain of the Soul

His hands locked hard on my waist, his fingers gripping tight. In the insistent pressure of his grasp, I could feel the years of practice that lay in his history as a Cassiline. In the shake of his hands, I could feel his struggle, the battle inside him. That was the core of him, the truth of him. Joscelin was a warrior, and he would always be a warrior.

In that moment, our souls were his battlefield, our pain his weapon.

Joscelin locked his strong fingers in the sides of my gown, crushing the delicate fabric in his fists. In one sharp movement, he shoved me to my knees. I landed hard, surprise mingling with a burst of pain to force a cry from my lips. Joscelin gripped the back of my head, twisted the heavy locks of my sable hair in his fist, and wrenched my head back. His free hand settled across my exposed throat, thumb pressing hard into the soft hollow beneath the point of my jaw.

Unbidden, my body responded. Without the conscious instruction of my mind, I sank into position for him. I knelt _abeyante_ \- at least, I made the attempt. Joscelin's fingers tightened in my hair, keeping my head back. He pulled again, hauled at my hair until my back arched and my breasts rose high. Heat coiled within me, heavy and thick as a storm in summer. Joscelin stroked my throat, then his fingers moved lower, outlining the narrow sweep of my collar bones, and lower still to trace along the neckline of my gown.

He slid two fingers between my breasts and took a grasp on the embroidered band that ran along the top of my gown. Ah, Elua, I knew what he intended, and I silently begged for him to do it. Joscelin snapped his arm back, and my gown rent at the seams, the front of my bodice dropping onto my thighs.

I let out a sound, a noise without any words, and I heard Joscelin's sharply indrawn breath in response. Watching him at his morning exercises for years had shown me the grace and fluidity of his movements, the strength that imbued his beautiful form, but I think there was nothing that could have prepared me for his speed when he chose to unleash it. In less than a heartbeat, he hauled me up by my hair and flung me face-down onto the bed. He ripped my gown from me, scattering the pieces across the bedchamber. He tore it all from my body and limbs in mere seconds, leaving me bare to him. The bed's lush coverlet muffled my shriek as Joscelin struck, his hand slapping across my buttocks with a sting as sharp as the blades of his daggers.

His hand fell again, the entire bed moving with the force of his blow, and I clutched at the coverlet, my hips moving instinctively in response to the pleasure of pain. I heard the rustle and jangle as he stripped, fabric and metal falling away from him. He mounted the bed and I prayed that he would not hesitate to mount me.

He knew me too well for that. He straddled my thighs, the length of his phallus nestled into the cleft of my buttocks, but no further, and I moaned into the coverlet at the denial. His skin was warm against mine, flushed with need and anguish in equal measure. I stirred beneath him and he gave a dark growl. Instantly, I stilled, waiting with breathless anticipation.

Joscelin spread his hands across my back and pushed them up my spine. The lines of my marque burned under his palms. He wrapped his fingers over my shoulders, pushing me into the bed. My hips rose in response, my buttocks tensing against the solid weight of his phallus. My fingers tightened in the coverlet. The movement drew Joscelin's attention and his hands locked around my wrists. "No," he said, the first word he had spoken since the kiss that began this battle of heart and soul. His voice held a violence barely restrained, the roar of the warrior in that single syllable. I shivered and subsided beneath him.

Joscelin twisted my arms over my back, my wrists crossed at the base of my spine. He held them in one hand, held them together in an unbreakable grasp. I felt him shifting, pushing up onto his knees, felt his free hand slipping between us to probe at the folds of my body. One finger slid between my nether lips and rubbed across Naamah's Pearl. I moaned for him, my blood rushing fast, beating against my ears like wings.

He moved to kneel between my legs, his knees pushing at my thighs to widen the space between them. Without further preparation, without warning, he fit the head of his phallus to my entrance and drove inside. The thick length of him filled me, stretched my body to aching. Despite the abruptness of it, his penetration was easy, my passage already slick from his attentions. He took my wrists and pinned my hands to the bed beside my hips, his fingers as tight around them as shackles. He bent over me and set his teeth into my shoulder. In one motion, he thrust in and bit down.

I have been beaten, cropped, flogged, and bloodied. I have taken more punishment in a bedchamber than most soldiers will ever take on a battlefield. I have been used by men and women alike in manners such that only an _anguisette_ could find pleasure in it. But never--

Never.

Never had I screamed like that before.

Joscelin's sharp teeth pierced my skin. His strong fingers ground the bones in my wrists. His solid length strained the most intimate muscles of my body.

I screamed for him.

Joscelin thrust hard and I screamed for him, heat rushing through me, pooling in that place where our flesh joined. Joscelin laid claim to me and I surrendered to him, gave myself over to him with a sobbing pleasure.

The room filled with the sounds of our joining - my cries, Joscelin's grunts, the slap and smack of our bodies. Joscelin held me down, pinned me beneath him, and drove into me without pause, each thrust hard and relentless.

His sounds deepened as the rhythm of his thrusts altered. I tried, tried desperately, to press back against him, but he had me held as firmly as any bonds or chains.

His thrusts grew erratic and his breathing grew ragged. He buried his length inside me and stiffened with a groan. The sound of his release washed over me, a wave of fire that left my skin prickling and my body clenching around him. He withdrew, the last drops of his seed spattering onto my back and across my marque.

"Joscelin," I whispered, his name sweeter on my tongue than honeyed wine and candied roses. "Joscelin, please."

He sat back on his heels and hauled me up, propping me against his chest. His teeth scraped at my shoulder as one arm wrapped under my breasts. His free hand worked between my splayed thighs and over my wet, heated skin. I turned my head to his neck, breathing him in. His scent, sweat and lust and despair, was more precious to me than the finest incense or rarest unguents. It was the scent of Joscelin, my Cassiline heart.

I reached up to press my hand to his cheek. He kissed my palm, so quick and light I could swear to have imagined it, then he pushed my hand away. He slapped my thigh and I bucked in his arms, crying out at the sting. Another and another blow came, each falling in the same spot, the pain doubling on itself with each stroke. He jerked my head back and bit the shell of my ear before growling a command. "Now, Phèdre."

The final strike of his hand fell between my thighs, landing hard on the throbbing pearl of Naamah. I arched in his arms, pain and pleasure mingling inside my blood. I screamed for him again, cried out his name as my vision turned scarlet. My release shook me down to the bone, left me trembling with need in his embrace.

He pushed me to the bed, rolled me to my back, and stretched over me. His wheat-gold hair spilled over his shoulders and he looked at me with storms in his blue eyes. Tears sparkled far in their depths even as his phallus stirred against my hip. I reached up for him, slipped my hands around his shoulders, and drew him down for a kiss that tasted of anguish and love, the sweetest pain that only an _anguisette_ could bear.


End file.
